


Blue Days

by januarywren



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Bittersweet, Bondage, Breeding, Devoted Kylo Ren, Dominant Kylo Ren, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, Lactation Kink, Multi, Multiple Partners, No Slash, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Obsessive Kylo Ren, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy Kink, Reylo - Freeform, Reylux - Freeform, Rux, Shameless Smut, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), Unrequited Love, manipulative Snoke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-10-06 08:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20503616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: “My, my,” he chuckled as she turned toward him. “You favor loyalty then, my little bird? Perhaps you won’t despise me after all.” She narrowed her eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her heightened cheeks; and draw his lips against her furrowed brow, smoothing the skin there.He wanted to ravage his wife.His fingers curled about her neck; his thumb drawing circles across her skin. He wanted the world to see bruises marring her skin, and know it was from him. He kissed her cheek and felt the thrum of her heartbeat - like that of a hummingbird - beneath his thumb. “I would own you,” he murmured, “if you were mine.”Her eyes met his; burning and unafraid.“I belong to no one,” she said, her words dragging themselves like knives across her bottom lip. It darkened to a crimson shade, and he caught it between his teeth; suckling on her sweetness. “My soul is my own, husband.”If only it was.Mythological AU | One holds her heart, the other her body.





	1. I

He wasn’t the one that she wanted.

  
  
He knew that, as he drew the knife against his palm, and she the same; before their fingers entwined and rivets of blood drew into one. And he knew, as her eyes met his, that she had little love for him.

  
  
“Husband,” Rey said.

  
  
“Wife,” Armitage said back, caressing the title with his tongue; and not as if it were a stone dropped into the riverbank; too cumbersome to skip, and too colorless to keep. He had won her and would keep her; if only to see the man kneeling beside his father burn in agony. “I promise to make you happy.”

  
  
The man’s head snapped upward, as he heard the words; the crows in the trees cawed in a staccato of anguish (and Armitage thought ‘_you heard me_, _brother_,’ and sneered). His bride made no move to look at him, instead, her hands held Armitage's tightly.

  
  
She was everything to his brother, therefore she was nothing to him. Nothing but a servant to the gods; a child drowned by her keepers, who the goddess Qi’ra had felt pulled to breathe life into. She was as constant as the stars; walking among the gods, as if she were their own; regardless that she wasn’t.

  
  
She would never be.

  
  
Still, she shined like the stars, and it was fitting then, that the sons of Snoke wanted her; Kylo with his burning nature, and Armitage with his cold-blue eyes and rigid heart. They were half-brothers; one born from a deflowered mortal, and the other made when a goddess took his father's hair and weaved it into the crude shape of a child, before breathing life into it. The goddess had found death for her insolence, and her name was struck from the thoughts and mouths of the gods, her son among them. It was said that one rueful hermit remembered her name; the only one to worship at her desecrated temple, and lay berries he collected from the wild, before her statue.

  
  
They had little love for another, each brother standing beside their father, as chaos and choice threaded itself through mortal history. They were chosen amongst others to hold their father’s favor; their siblings numberless, and their father’s seed flung wide. It was the newly fallen snow, and the flowers when they bloomed, and the changing leaves when they clung to tree branches; his seed the wonder of the fertile world.

  
  
They watched as she brought flowers to their temples and listened as she whispered the wishes of poor souls before their altars. She lived among them yet saw through the façade of the gods; their nature the same as any man. She had no fear of them, nor of the thundering hooves of their beasts as they thundered through the forest, after their prey.

  
  
She was her own amongst their world; a curious sight, a pretty bauble.

  
  
Armitage had heard that she'd given his brother his new scar after he'd come across her while bathing. She'd lashed at him without fear, striking him with her blessed staff. Armitage laughed at the thought before he wondered at the snakes that wound themselves about his arms flicked their tongues in the air; tasting his laughter, his _wonder_, as they never had before.

  
  
“**Rey**,” he said, tasting the sound of it in his mouth, knowing his brother did the same.

  
  


* * *

  
  
They'd come to their father on bended knee and lowered head.

  
  
His favored children, his beloved sons.

  
  
“_I wish to have her-_“

  
  
“_And I too, Father_.”

  
  
“_And so, you both will,_” Snoke declared, his rasping voice heard throughout the immortal world. “_One will have her heart as his own, and the other her twat_.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
“I’ve convinced Father not to bed you first,” he murmured, placing his hand on his wife’s slim shoulder. “Not as he willed to do with Gwen.”

“I believe she set fire to his bed after,” she stubbornly replied. He’d instructed her to lay beside him, and she’d sat beside him instead; defiantly glaring at him as if she were a spitting, three-headed dog. “Did she not, My Lord?”

  
  
_Charming_.

  
  
His lips curled upward in a smirk. “I believe she did,” he ghosted his fingers across her shoulder blades and felt as she trembled beneath his touch. “And was chosen to die after.”

  
  
“Yet you interceded for her,” his wife said. “Why?”

  
  
_‘She was a curious, little thing, wasn’t she?’ _he thought to himself. “She was a childhood friend,” he said finally. “I thought it was amusing, burning Father’s horrid bed. He’d taken every virgin bride on it and insists on holding on to a corner of the sheet after.” He sniffed. “Horrid.”

  
  
And useful, for the virgin blood of a goddess tied them to his father; their youth keeping him in spring. It was this that he didn’t tell his wife, nor that he supposed his friend wouldn’t have minded fucking his father if only he’d made it special: an ostentatious gift, if not a new bed; a priceless ring with his portrait, or diamond-encrusted choker. Instead, Gwen had raised a furious ruckus; burning his father’s bed, and smashing several, valuable portraits that his father favored, and had gone for his hunting dog, before the guards had stopped her. It’d taken Armitage on his knees, and his father’s whip at his back to intercede for her.

  
  
“How loyal of you,” Rey said.

  
  
Curiously enough, it sounded like the minx _meant_ it.

  
  
“_My, my_,” he chuckled as she turned toward him. “You favor loyalty then, my little bird? Perhaps you won’t despise me after all.” She narrowed her eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her heightened cheeks; and draw his lips against her furrowed brow, smoothing the skin there.

He wanted to ravage his wife.

  
  
His fingers curled about her neck; his thumb drawing circles across her skin. He wanted the world to see bruises marring her skin, and know it was from him. He kissed her cheek and felt the thrum of her heartbeat - like that of a hummingbird - beneath his thumb. “I would own you,” he murmured, “if you were mine.”

  
  
Her eyes met his; burning and unafraid.

  
  
“I belong to no one,” she said, her words dragging themselves like knives across her bottom lip. It darkened to a crimson shade, and he caught it between his teeth; suckling on her sweetness. “My soul is my own, husband.”

  


He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her astride him.

“I am the same as Echo then,” he mused, drawing kisses down her chin, and down the column of her throat where his fingers squeezed. He wished she would wear a collar, as ostentatious as it was. “Crying out for Narcissus to hear my call.”

  
  
She shuddered as his hand drew down to her chest and pulled the ribbons of her nightgown aside. She’d come to him a virgin in white; the same as if she were a sacrifice. “Beautiful,” he cooed, palming her breasts beneath his hand. He felt her rosy nipples stiffen and tweaked them roughly.

  
  
She let her robe slip from her shoulders, baring her arms to the cool air. “I would request one thing from you,” she said, looking askance.

  
  
No, he thought, that wouldn’t do.

He wanted to see her eyes and every nuance of her gaze. He’d learned from Death itself that the gaze never lied; the pitiful window to the soul that it was. Armitage never struck from the back, no; he struck from the front while meeting’s a man’s eyes. Their gazes never haunted him; no surprise in their expression, or hideous wail of betrayal.

  
  
He curled his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up to him. “Tell me, wife.”

  
  
Her eyes were like a doe’s; wide and amber-colored, and beautiful in their stark vulnerability. “Be gentle,” she asked slowly as if she were forcing herself to say the words. Could she be a virgin untouched, truly, and not guided by the goddess who adored her; Qi’ra? He’d wondered if his father would have known, had she bled using a bladder filled with sheep’s blood, or left behind droplets of blood using a knife against her palm.

  
  
Perhaps she was.

  
  
He softened at the thought, and her soft, sweet voice. “For my first time.”

“I would give you nothing but ecstasy,” he promised her, drawing his fingers from her throat to her collarbone. He felt her fragile bone beneath his fingertips and traced the symbol of the ouroboros on it. “I am bound to my word, wife.”

  
  
He moved his arms to her waist, where he continued to fondle her chest; and slid his other hand to her clit. He felt her damp curls beneath his hand; and drew circles against them, hardening at her sighs. He would show her what it was like to desire, if not love.

  
  
He pressed her slit open with his thumb and thrust it inside; feeling the wetness of her entrance. He felt her shudder about him and rub her sex against his long fingers. “I will show you everything I know,” he cooed. “Everything and more.”

Mutely, she entwined her arms about his neck and brought his head up to her lips; greedy for his embrace. He met her with open-mouthed kisses, his tongue sliding into her mouth; and enveloping her tongue. It was a dance of wills, as their teeth clashed, before she sighed into his mouth, and relaxed into him. She tasted of ambrosia; sweet honey and the juiciest of wild berries, everything designed to long to entwine further into her. “I want you,” he whispered against her parted lips and meant every word of it. “As I want no other.”

  
  
Her thighs parted on their own, and she eased her slick cunt against his open palm.

The air was heady with arousal; the smell of her musk-like honey to his senses. Her small hand tugged his silk coverings aside and exposed his weeping cock. He groaned against her mouth as he felt her fingers tentatively feel his shaft, before wrapping about it. She nipped at his lip, tugging at his skin; before smoothing the hurt with her tongue.

  
  
“Hades,” he said, bucking his hips against her hand. She was pumping his cock; her kneading fingers growing firmer as her confidence grew. He felt her smile against his lips, and broke their kiss, saliva trailing between them. Her eyes closed as she eased back and teased his head with her warm, dripping entrance. "I will think you my punishment if you continue like this." He rasped.

  
  
“Perhaps I am,” she replied, her eyes warming.

  
  
_Ah_, he thought, as he saw the glimmer of fire inside her. She liked a challenge; his fierce little one. She had claws that the world hadn’t seen, and he wanted her to rake them across his chest, as he bared his soul to her.

  
  
She could have it _all_.

  
  
She moaned as she eased his tip inside of her, and his hands moved to grasp her waist; holding her in place. He knew that she wanted to stiffen, and it would only hurt more; though he would let her control the pace, as his teeth sank into his cheek, and he held himself still. He wouldn’t take her as he’d wanted to, at first; roughly, and with abandon. That would come later, as he took her again and again, and buried his seed within her.

She would be the first and only one to have his children, and he felt his cock throb at the thought. He would bed her and breed her, keeping her belly laden with his seed, and knew that her breasts were already bearing milk. It had been his wish, expressed as their blood became one that had begun to affect her body; sending pleasure tingling through her. And an ache, a need to be tasted, that only he could accommodate.

The thought driving him mad.

  
  
“My sweet, little one,” he murmured, as she sank further on to him. He felt the tightness of her virgin channel and groaned as his cock made itself at home. He felt her walls as they wrapped around his tip; constricting and terribly warm. “Lean forward,” he said lowly, his fingers kneading at her sides. Tentatively she did so; leaning forward and keened as he caught her nipple with his mouth.

  
  
He circled her nipple with his tongue, before beginning to suck as if he were her own. He was greedy for a taste of her; his parched throat eager to be soothed. He hummed against her skin, greedy for the sweetness of her milk; as it leaked on to his tongue. He would learn what made her gasp, and what made her sigh; and everything that brought forth delight in her.

"A-Armitage," she whispered and squirmed at the sensation of his suckling; and as his cock ground against her hymen. He held her tighter, knowing what needed to be done, and the sheets themselves came to tie about her ankles, holding her legs open. The silk hangings about the bed came too, winding themselves like ropes about her breasts, and squeezing them as if she were being milked. And she was, as he sought to have every drop of sound, from her; any moan that he could coax, or drag from her.

  
  
“No, _oh_-“ her hands gripped his shoulders, and her nails scraped against his skin; as everything began to move in tandem. She’d never felt like that before; lust burning itself into her skin. She struggled against the bindings, wanting away from his mouth, as her breast pressed against his face and nipple felt the scrape of his teeth. “What are you - what is this?”

  
  
Change, she realized.

  
  
Qi’ra had told her of it happening; of those mated with the hand binding ceremony. He wanted this from her, wanted to taste her -

  
  
Her cheeks flushed at the thought, and she felt the urge to bury her hands in his hair; and push him further against her breast, wanting to feel nothing but him suckling at her breast, and drinking from her. Her cunt gushed nectar, and she felt herself bare more weight down on him.

  
  
(**Exactly** what he’d been waiting for.)

  
  
He thrust into her; breaking through her hymen, as she keened in pleasure and pain; all while whispering praise against her breast. The ropes about her breast brought milk spurting from her nipples into his greedy mouth, and he soothed her nipple with little licks and teasing nips with his teeth. The milk from her other nipple leaked on to his face; her milk running down in a steady stream.

Against her will, the bindings urged her up, and she began to move against his cock. She felt every inch of him in this position; and keened again, louder and more desperate. Every time she lifted her hips, his cock left her; and her cunt tightened about nothing until she sank down on him again. It made her want to cry out his name, as he slipped back inside her, her cunt desperate to wrap about his cock. It was the only thing that could fill her; its girth making her cunt stretch wider, while it struggled to accommodate him. Still she wanted more, more, _more_ -

  
  
It felt like nothing she’d known before, something she _wanted_ to know with all of her will.

  
  
She panted his name as she rode him, his hands helping her to move up and down on him. The pain had passed, as she took him deeper; and her nectar soaked his cock. He felt his own release build; his cock dripping pre-cum inside of her sopping cunt. It wasn’t enough, it’d never be enough.

  
  
He wanted all of her; he thought then, her body, and her heart if she would give herself to him, for he was already hers. He would immortalize her in fire, and radiant light; spinning gossamer silk through her hair and turning her tears into pretty gems. He would soothe her, and please her, and have worshippers cry her name; as they came to pray for a bountiful harvest in his temple. Their names would be drawn side by side, he wished; immortalized together into every stone wall, and woven tapestry. She would be the siren of his heart, and the goddess of his home.

  
  
His precious, little wife.

(Even then, he knew it would never be.)

  
  
He felt the beginning ache of his knot, and knew that he would soon bind her body with his. They were the same as mortals; sweat rolling down their skin, and his knuckles white, and her cheeks flushed. They were no different than; no, they were the same as any mortals fucking. Armitage understood then, how gods came to rut amongst man; taking the shapes of bulls, and other virulent creatures to possess the sweet virgins that roamed the land. And how other, braver gods took their own form; using their own faces, and toyed with debauched priests, and willing worshippers. It was paradise.

Yet he knew too, that nothing and no one could compare to the girl in his arms.

  
  
“Please- “her head tipped back, and lips parted as she cried. “Make me r-remember this.”

  
  
He wanted nothing more than to engrave the memory upon her skin; making her remember every moment she was with him, that he’d been her first, if not her only. She would remember, he swore; she would always remember him.

  
  
“I will,” he crooned. “You know that I will, little wife.”

  
  
He suckled harder as her cunt tightened about his cock, and her movements became erratic; her hips rolling against his, and hands scrabbled at his naked chest. His hand moved from her waist to finger her clit, his fingers diving inside her cunt. She could take all of him; his good, sweet girl, and he promised himself that he would come to know every entrance of her body. He would do anything she wanted, anything she asked; if he could feel himself inside her.

  
  
The air was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, and the squelching sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of her. He felt his shaft with his fingers; and crooked them inside of her, teasing her sensitive folds.

  
  
He knew that she was reaching ecstasy; and thought of grooming her afterward, with nothing but his tongue; lapping it across her filthy cunt, and her sweet skin; guzzling down her cum. He wanted to protect her, the silly fool that he was, and make her feel adored; as if she’d been crowned the May Queen and danced about the ribbon covered pole.

She stiffened on his cock, her breasts heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She couldn’t, she wailed. It was too much, _too warm, too tight, too_-!

  
  
“I-I’m coming!” She cried, her body shaking with her release. Her cunt convulsed about his cock, as she began to cum; warm, sticky cum flooding from her. The feeling was indescribable as her cum gushed over his cock; a feeling that he wanted to know, again and again.

  
  
He let her nipple free from his mouth, milk dripping down his chin. “Rey,” he reversed her name, repeating it as he felt himself start to climax. He wanted to fill her womb with his seed; have her pregnant before his brother could have their father reverse his decree -

  
  
no, no, no, that couldn’t happen, that couldn’t be.

  
  
He hadn’t thought it would (that it could) be like this when he’d chosen her, snatching her from beneath her brother’s nose, and wouldn’t let her go. Kylo wouldn’t have her body, he wouldn’t know the sweetness of her cries, or how she shuddered when he felt her clit dampen beneath his thumb. (Just as Armitage would never see her smile, never hear her laugh and press her fingers against her lips and look at him with eyes filled with love.)

He clutched her to him and felt his cock growing heavy inside of her; preparing to release. He wouldn't let anything escape her; he would knot her, filling her with everything that he had. “Rey, _Rey_-“

She was blossoming; more beautiful than any nymph his father collected and had prance about the palace as if they were released in fields, with flowers springing beneath their feet, and the sun kissing their cheeks. He’d dallied with them before, and they were nothing like this –

He inhaled.

  
  
Nothing like her. 

  
The sheets let her go, as she collapsed atop him; and he came inside of her, ropes of cum spurting from his cock. His knot expanded inside of her; locking them together, so she couldn't let go. As it was her cunt was grasping his cock, and his knot tight; as if she too wanted his seed. His arms wrapped around her waist, he held her close; and wrapped his legs about her legs. He didn’t want to let her go and nuzzled his face against her shoulder. They both were panting and moaning as if they were naught but beasts; their hearts beating in their chest for the other.

  
  
He wished it were so; drawing her head beneath his chin and pressing his lips against her temple. “Wife,” he said lowly, after several moments. He hadn't been able to speak before; for surely, he would have cried her name and asked her to stay. She wouldn’t give up his brother; one made her lover, while Armitage was bound as her husband. He would have her body, and offspring with her; yet never her heart, her pretty, beating heart. (He wasn't a fool.) He made no move to look at her, as he closed his eyes, and knew more than to expect her to reply - Her fingers caught his wrist, before letting it go.

  
  
“Husband,” she murmured.

* * *

  
  
In the morning, he’d woken to an empty bed, as if the night before had never been.

  
  
His wedding night.

"Ours," he amended and looked toward the windows where sunlight streamed into the room. The door to their bedroom cracked open, and he heard the sound of hooves against the marble.

“Her Serene Highness,” his centaur servant, Mitaka, began, and Armitage knew without looking that he was wringing his hands “She was called to-“

  
  
“To my brother’s side.”

  
  
“…Yes.” Mitaka said, reluctantly. He was unhappy for his Master, yet he really _did_ like his little mate. She’d been kind to him that morning, thanking him for breakfast (though Mitaka knew she’d only taken a handful of bites, and left her tea alone), and had asked him to chat with her later, if he wanted. (“_I would be your friend, if you’d allow_,” she’d said, and he’d fallen in love. “_I don’t have many and, I know what it’s like to be lonely_.”) 

Armitage sat up, letting the sheets pool about his naked waist. He reached for the cigarettes on his nightstand and wordlessly allowed Mitaka to light the end of it. Really, Armitage thought, he was becoming shameless; expecting Rey to stay. Love was hardly required from a marriage, nor happiness. It was sanctified fucking, as the gods could attest; even the ones that looked down their aristocratic noses and pursed their lips at the crudity of it all. His own aunt was the goddess of discord; one who danced, naked, about with the imps that guarded her temple, and rolled about amidst human couples disguised as a filthy mayfly. Her husband still bedded her; even his father had and expected nothing more; _wanted _nothing more.

  
  
_Still_.

  
  
“Highness?” He blinked, realizing that Mitaka had been watching him with curious, wide eyes. Armitage shook his head, running his fingers through his tousled hair.

  
  
“Nothing,” he said, before sliding, naked from the bed. He turned from the windows that faced the garden, where he knew his wife would be, and his brother beside her. “Nothing at all, Mitaka.”

  
  
It didn’t matter.

  
  
It _didn’t_.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by NCUH, thank you! 🦝🖤


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments on the first chapter, and the sweet messages over Tumblr! 🖤 They were a lovely inspiration to write the second chapter, and I hope you all like it. Blue Days is going to be longer than my initial outline of three chapters, though updates may be sporadic. 
> 
> Your support truly means the world to me, thank you. 🖤

“How long has it been?”

“Hm?” She hungrily tilted her head back, letting the sun kiss her freckled cheeks. The heat made her happy, a gentle breeze brushing against her exposed shoulders. “Kylo?”

Though nothing could make her happier than being beside the man who'd pressed soft kisses to her exposed skin, tracing her collarbone with teasing kisses and nips before chastely kissing her cheek. She spent her days at his side when he wasn't away from court, and her nights with her husband.

She wouldn’t think his name, not when she was with Kylo.

It'd been weeks since her marriage, and she felt herself faltering inside the palace. She hardly knew how to read, nor write her name, instead, spending her time when she was alone with the servants or out riding. She also practiced the training exercises she had when she was a lone maiden using a wooden staff, she'd carved herself, and brought bits of rice to feed the sparrows that gathered there. She hadn't been called to attend one of Snoke's infamous dinners when the court assembled to entertain him.

Something she was glad for.

“Since you slept, Rey,” Kylo asked, not missing how she’d begun to doze on his shoulder, before shaking herself awake. She was like a loth cat in the sun, her lips parted gently, and her breath coming in soft pants. He knew her love for the sun and kept the trees from shading them, having their branches curl inward.

  
  
“A little.” she yawned and met his gaze with hers. “What about you?”

She knew he slept as much as she did, the two in tandem with another.

“Since your wedding night,” he admitted, and she inclined her head, ignoring the feeling of her cheeks flushing. It was the same for her, both aware of the oath she had made to one another. She hadn’t found peace since that night, instead, wandering the halls or visiting the koi ponds at dusk. Armitage had taken to locking their room after he arrived, his robes billowing about him before he carried her to bed. He’d fuck her relentlessly, claiming her body with his, and knotted her, before pulling her flush against him, both pretending to be asleep afterward.

He was better at it than she was, always tugging her back into him when she went to leave, intending to sleep on the balcony. She had only once, soon after their wedding night, when he’d found her amidst a haphazard nest she’d made on the balcony. She’d been awash in sheets and lay shivering in her nightgown when he’d taken her in hand, and brought her back to bed. After that, he’d started sleeping with her until the morning, ensuring that she stayed beside him after his knot slipped from her. No matter how long she waited, he waited longer, firmly tucking her against him and wrapping the sheets about her. “_I promised to look after you, wife_,” he’d remind her, before drawing her head to his shoulder, or against his muscular chest.

  
  
It was a forced intimacy, one that made her wish she had no craving for it. She shivered when he drew his fingers across her shoulder blades, drawing circles in tandem with kissing her jawline. He’d touch her chastely when she faced away from him, often resting his leg over her thigh, or stroked her hip with his hand. He never said a word to her, though he praised her during sex, cooing to her about what a good omega she was, and how beautiful she’d look with his pups. She’d lose herself under his words, and his touch, unable to hold back from writhing beneath it all, while tears dripped down her cheeks. It was attention that she’d never known, an attention that she wanted to receive from another, but she couldn’t bear to think of Kylo during the moments with her husband.

  
  
It was the only way that she could live, and not lose herself entirely.

In the morning, he always left before she awoke. The smell of his cigarettes, and a trail of ashes on the pillow; the only signs that he'd stayed the night with her. Neither asked the other for company during the day nor sent each other messages through servants, as others did. She knew that her husband had beautiful penmanship, once tracing the words he’d written, finding a letter he’d left on his desk. She couldn’t read the words but followed every stroke of his quill with her finger and wondered at the meaning.  
  
She wondered if someone would teach her, one day.

Her husband never said he was coming at dusk, though she knew he would. It was always the same, as he lingered at the doorway, watching her before she cast her robe away. He never said a word about how her cunt was wet for him, despite how she twisted beneath him and never met his gaze. He fucked her harshly and would have tenderly if she'd asked him to.

(She didn't.)

She _wouldn’t_.

Kylo traced the violet bruises beneath her eyes with his knuckles, a warm, comforting touch that made her press her cheek further into his hand. “Sleep, Rey.” He drew his free arm about her waist, pulling her flush against him.

She felt the cords of his muscles through his silk robes and greedily roamed her gaze over his aristocratic features. She'd once peppered his haughty cheekbones with kisses and teased him by tickling his long nose with a cattail until his lips had twitched into a smile. “I don’t need to,” she said. “I’m fine.”

"I'm here," he murmured, and she shook her head slightly. The ornaments in her hair bobbed with her movements, delicate, pearl-encrusted pins clinging to her chignon.

“I want to be with you,” she replied, and they both knew she meant it in more ways than one. His dark eyes were so, so _sad_, and she felt her insides crumple. She would have said that he should find another if she could force the words from her throat and push them between her teeth where they always stilled. He deserved to be happy, even without her (but how she wanted him to be happy with her). “Awake, and here.”

His mouth tightened, both of them feeling watchful eyes upon them. They could walk for miles upon miles in the gardens, past the views of the palace, and there would always be someone watching; her husband’s gaze taking root in the forest, observing them through the eyes of a preening bird, or pretty doe.

Defiantly, they lunched in the prettiest area of the gardens where forget-me-nots and columbines and the thickest stalks of lavender bloomed in tandem with bursts of wildflowers. The West garden was said to have been created by a nymph; her tears, after being forced into marriage with a wrathful god, nourishing the wilted garden. It never faltered, its flowers instinctively knowing when to bloom, and when to close their petals and fold in their stalks during crashes of thunder and howls of rain when Snoke fell into one of his murderous tempers.

Kylo pressed his lips against her ear, in a chaste kiss that made her long for him. “Shh.”

“I was happy when I was with you.”

“Were you?”

“I…” he hesitated a moment, his onyx eyes searching hers. “I was always happy with you. I _am_, Rey, no matter how I may have you.”

She flinched at the reminder of what lay between them but felt her heart race at his words. There was honesty there, in his voice, as there always was. “You’ve never lied to me, have you?” She remarked, nuzzling her cheek against his faltering hand. “You’re the only one who tells me the truth.”

“Yes,” he replied, without pause. “If I don’t, who will?”

He had been groomed at Snoke's side, as long as he could remember, with his brother on the other side of him. Their father delighted in innuendos and duplicitous charm, never quite saying the truth unless it suited him best. He'd once thought the world of his father, kneeling at his slippered feet without question, and following his whims without hesitation. "I can be free with you, Rey," Kylo murmured, and watched as she dipped her neck, letting him kiss her skin where her pulse beat beneath. "Just as you will always be with me."

She caught her lower lip with her teeth and nodded her head slowly. “I - “

"I wish to show you something," she said lowly and screwed her eyes closed tightly. He kept his arm about her waist, feeling her tremble beneath her silk gown. Once, he had dreamed of holding her beneath him and watching as she crested, her body trembling with virgin pleasure. Once, he had thought his dreams about her would be real, their lives entwined in a way he would thank the gods every day for.

Now, he let her go, as she moved away from him.

Her eyes were open and wide as a frightened doe's as she scooted down further on the stone bench. “I need to show you,” she corrected, and his throat constricted at the pain in her voice. “If it’s…if it’s too much, I understand.”

She forced herself to straighten, a movement that he didn’t miss. He knew when she was trying to be brave, looking the same on her wedding day.

His hands dropped to his sides, fisting tightly as he longed to reach for her, and hold her to him, hiding her from the world. She was someone he wanted to protect more than anyone else, more than the wolf he’d once saved from the court hunters and raised by hand. The wolf, Jynn, had grown into a fierce creature that was loyal to none but him, using his teeth to tear apart his cowl before rolling on his back for belly scratches. The wolf was his friend unlike any other, before he’d met Rey.

Then, everything changed.

“Has he hurt you?” He asked harshly. “Rey - “

He broke off as she fumbled with the front of her dress, tugging at the laced knots that held the front together. His stomach rolled as she pulled the gauzy fabric down, and he saw bruises covering her skin. “Rey- “, he choked.

He struggled to hold the seeping, dark anger away, one that was tinting his vision red.

He would murder the man who had hurt her, raped her, as they were forced to follow his father’s orders. He felt his fingernails cutting into the meat of his palm and ground his teeth together.

His brother, Armitage.

He would murder him without thought, and take Rey away, as he should have done since the start. His heart burned in his chest, as his thoughts raced of where he could take her, where he could hide her, and keep her safe. “Don’t,” Rey whispered, pressing her index finger against his plush lips. “Stay with me, Ben.” He blinked rapidly, his girl swimming back into focus. Everything about her invited him in: the faint, floral scent of her and the faint blush that rouged her cheeks, and her hazel eyes that were filled with concern for him.

He felt shame at his rage, his flaring need to hurt, and went to move away -

Until he realized her hand was on his forearm, and she looked imploringly at him. “Please, Ben,” she said, using the name that she’d once, only known him by. His mother had named him Ben, while his father had made him into Kylo Ren. Meeting Rey, he’d felt that he could be both.

He could be himself.

“Armitage didn’t hurt me,” his eyes snapped to hers at the use of his brother’s name. “He… he didn’t, Kylo.” She shifted, pulling at her low collar. Bruises in the shape of fingerprints were clear on her fair skin, while hickeys marred the delicate curve of her throat. He felt sick at the sight of them and wanted to ruin them with her touch, chasing them away. “He hasn’t done anything I haven’t asked him to.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Yet.”

His brother had always been more like his father than he was, priding himself on his smooth tongue and false charisma. He put others at ease before snapping his jaws about them, the same as a snake lying in wait for its prey.

He’d done the same to Kylo while growing up, the two often tangling together in fights, especially when one mentioned the other’s mother. Their father had delighted at their feuds, often fanning the flames of their bitter resentment. They’d both pushed and pulled at another, each wanting to be the only one that kneeled before their father. They’d wanted his recognition and his respect, something neither of them had ever received.

“Ben,” she said slowly, her voice trembling. “Look at me.”

And he did, of course, he did -

He would do anything for her. Anything - and words died in his throat as he looked at her and saw that she had bared her chest to him. Her breasts were heavier than they’d been before, her nipples perked and dripping milk.

_Milk_.

He felt a flare of jealousy at the thought that Rey was pregnant, his brother’s seed taking root within her. He inhaled, tasting her scent on his tongue, and realized her scent was still the same; as floral and sweet as it had always been, without the taint of being overwhelmingly sweet as it would be when she was pregnant. It was an omega’s way of protecting their body, though their alpha rarely let them out of sight, instead keeping them by their side.

Unwillingly his eyes roamed to the mating mark that bruised her throat, and he realized the changes had come from something - someone - else. Kylo started his mouth opening and then closing.

"It hurts," she admitted, her cheeks scarlet. She was embarrassed by his silence, and drew her hands over her breasts, shivering at the feeling. "It… they ache when they're full." He made a noise in the back of his throat and moved to wrap his cape over her shoulders, shielding her from those overlooking the garden.

“Do I - does this disgust you?” Rey asked, vulnerability shadowing her features.

“You never could,” Kylo replied. “Not you, never you.”

His hands covered hers, slowly bringing her hands down from her breasts. “What do you need?” He asked lowly, his eyes darkening with desire. “Do I need to bring him here?”

For her, he would, though he would drag his brother by the throat. His chest burned at the thought of another taking care of her, though he would force himself to leave if she wished. 

"I want you, Kylo," she nibbled on her lower lip and felt desire warm her insides. "Only you." She shifted, moving to face him entirely. "If you could - “

His ears turned pink as he pulled her hands away from her breasts entirely and saw how they weighed heavily. “Yes,” he murmured. “How - “

“Your head in my lap would be easiest,” she replied, and he considered her a moment, before adjusting to lay as if he were a child again, his head in her lap and his arm about her waist. His hand rested on the small of her back while he tilted his head up, her breasts dangling near his mouth.

She watched as he licked his lips, before slowly engulfing her nipple in his mouth. He traced her areole with his warm tongue, before flicking her nipple with it.

“D-Don’t tease,” she whimpered, and he hummed in response. His hand came to fondle her breast, palming above her nipple with his calloused palm. She squirmed as he drank from her, greedy for all the milk that she had. When her nipple gave, he kissed it tenderly, before moving to her other breast.

It was more sensitive than the other, and she keened as he began to drink from her. He made her tremble at the thought of bearing young, having their children drink from her breast, as she gave them something only she could provide. She felt her eyes burn and swallowed tautly.

She would keep everything in, for him.

Except he wanted to hear her sighs and her cries as he swallowed mouthfuls of milk and burned for more of her. He was hard from being with her, his erection pressing against her thigh as her legs entangled with his. He hadn't touched her after she'd married Armitage, filled with regret over forcing her before Snoke and hadn't met her gaze until she'd yanked his collar down toward her and kissed him harshly. She still wanted him, she said, she’d never stopped, and it wasn’t his fault.

It was, he knew. It was his fault that she’d come to the notice of his father and had been forced into a marriage she’d never wanted. She’d wanted him, and he’d taken away her choices, and her freedom in life. Yet she still wanted him, her tone, her blessed touch leaving no question of it, no lingering doubt. He was enough for her.

And so, he burned for her.

They’d kissed without end after they found it wouldn’t hurt, tangling their tongues together while he cradled her cheeks, or she grasped and pulled at his robes. They were impatient; the days never long enough to spend together, the nights never short enough before she could return to his side. He couldn’t touch her cunt, but he could love her, and he did. He touched her lips, and everywhere else that he could, showering her with kisses and smoldering looks, and his words that said so little when he meant so much.

She took all of him, and made him her own, burrowing in the dark cavern of his chest.

He suckled at her breast, making her moan and tug at his soft curls. The feeling thrummed low in her belly, the same as the beating of a bird’s wings. She knew that she would never tire of him, nor the feeling of his touch, and never wanted to.

(_Yet how she wanted to cry when she thought of how she delighted at the hands of another_)

She keened as she felt her cunt dampen, adoring the slight graze of his teeth against her nipple, forcing milk to spurt into his mouth. It was creamy and rich, as she knew from when Armitage had urged her to taste herself on his lips. She flinched at the thought before Kylo pressed her further into his mouth and squeezed her breast roughly, making her cry out in pleasure. He was greedy and insistent, forcing her body to submit to his.

And she did, she always would.

Her eyes grew hazy with lust, as she thought of Kylo relentlessly drinking from her and keeping her full with his pups. They would nurse from her until he lifted from her breast, taking their place until she was desperate with overstimulation. He would be relentless and cruel and force her to her hands and her knees, before mounting her (their pups tucked away in their nest, safe from view) and making her beg for his knot. Her body was made for his, as he’d snarl into her ear, while her neck bore his mating mark.

She felt slick run down her thighs and realized she was rubbing herself against him. He was more than her fingers ever could be, thick and full against her. She tortured herself the few times she was alone in her bed by fingering herself, pretending her fingers were his and that it was his name on her lips when she came. She swallowed as she caught sight of his gaze, his eyes dilated as he inhaled her musky aroma that clung to the air.

He let go of her nipple with a ‘pop’, milk streaming down his chin. “So good for me,” he purred, and she shuddered at his praise. “One with sweet, perfect milk.” He nuzzled his cheek against her breast and kissed where the most violet bruises were. “Our pups would take it so well and grow so strong.”

Her omega preened at his words and she ached with the need to ride him, letting him take her until they were oblivious to the world around them and his knot was buried inside her. She wanted his young, and his love; a place at his side more than she’d wanted anything else.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please take me, Kylo, please - “

She could take the pain; knowing Snoke’s curse would make his touch burn, as they’d found when he kissed her thigh before and tried to worship her cunt. She’d stiffened at the licking flames inside her, and he’d caught the tear that slipped down her cheek. Still, she could take anything for him, she _would_ take anything for him. “I’ll keep you safe, Rey.” He reached for her hands and tangled them in his, before drawing her against his chest. “Even from yourself.”

She struggled against him, shaking her head at his words. “Please Kylo,” she insisted. Want and misery in her voice. “It aches - “

Everything did, for him.

“Please - “

He held her tighter, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I can’t,” he murmured, and she heard the pain that dripped from his voice. “I can’t, Rey.”

She buried her head against his shoulder, and wept, as he pressed her close to him. He kissed the top of her head while whispering his love for her. His little love; his beautiful girl. She was the only one who knew him, the only one he would ever allow in and adorn his love. "I won't let go of you," he said thickly. "Your place is by my side, regardless of what father declared, or what he believes. You’re with me, Rey, as I am with you.”

“Promise me,” she keened, her voice muffled by his cowl. “If you mean it, Kylo - “

“I do,” he said and tilted her head back to kiss her swollen lips with his. He put his love in his kiss, one that was relentless and bruising. Their lips parted, and teeth clashed, as they poured their emotions into another; trust, and love, and fear and regret that coiled in their chests. They needed another, without end.

Above their heads, the clouds greyed.

“Kylo- “, she breathed.

“Rey.” He said her name simply as if she were the only thing, the only one that had ever mattered to him. He rested his temple against hers, and bumped her nose with his, making her laugh softly.

Their lips met again, as it began to rain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Thank you NCUH and Jelly, Oni, and Simon for beta reading. 🦝🖤


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Squints*
> 
> Is that a smidgeon of plot emerging?? 
> 
> Maybe!
> 
> Thank you for all reading, it means the world to me 🖤 My health has been a struggle lately, and fatigue is a major part of it - I apologize for taking so long to update Blue Days, as well as replying slowly to comments. I read and appreciate them all, so, so very much. 
> 
> I hope that everyone had a very Merry Christmas and has a happy New Year! 🖤🦝

Qi’ra knew, perhaps more than any other, the nature of gods.

They were not pure, as gods clinging to their bloodline believed while sneering at filthy mortals below.

They were not sacred, as their priests proclaimed, and their temple maidens believed. They would not save those who asked, not even those who begged it of them.

They were filthier than anyone knew.

As a child, Qi’ra had reveled in her position at court, clinging to the skirts of Snoke’s first wife, while soaking in the wonder of the gods around them. They were glorious then, wearing diamonds the size of her fist, and laughing without fear. They were joyful and entrancing, and everything she wanted to be.

“Please,” she’d whisper at night in her bed. “Please let me be like them.”

She was minute in importance, a goddess without name, as her mother had abandoned her as soon as she’d been made. The Empress had taken to her, her little sparrow, as she called Qi’ra, and she’d treated her as more than a young handmaiden. She’d treated her like her own.

She’d allowed Qi’ra her own monkey from her menagerie, one with mirthful eyes, and little paws that sought sparkly things. The court suffered greatly when fashionable tastes changed, encouraging longer hems, and use of fine, golden thread - the monkey often entertaining itself by unraveling the knotted threads from hems, and sleeves that draped to the ground. Qi'ra couldn't be angry at her pet, the monkey giving a little 'dance', as it waved its tail and clapped its paws after she found it had ruined one of her own gowns.

She hadn’t named the silly thing, not when she’d had things taken from her before; slippers, her comb, even the silver bracelet her grandmother had left for her. Just as she, in her turn, had taken from the others around her. They were all coveting, greedy things that had little regard for others' things. 

It was a childhood that Qi’ra treasured, especially when her pet brought her the attention of a young centaur. He’d approached her in the Empress’s own gardens, with her monkey hanging from his shoulder. It had greatly aided him during his hunt, he explained, his cheeky smile telling her what he was hunting, as well as his tousled hair.

She’d called her pet to return to her - only it hadn’t wanted to leave the centaur, and from there, a friendship was born. The creature’s name was Han, he murmured, and he was apart of the creatures that decorated the gardens. They extended for miles upon miles, the gardens a gift from Snoke to his wife upon their first anniversary.

Some dared to whisper, the endless garden was meant as a distraction, something to blind his wife while he dallied with the ones who attended their court. Others sneered, insisting it was a gift for the both of them, as Snoke filled it with creatures to roam - it was a sanctuary for their appetites, one they could fulfill them in with any kind of creature.

Qi’ra heard the truth from Han’s lips, as he told her, once that he was meant as an adornment for the gardens, the same as the gods were for Snoke’s court. “_None of us are free, sweet sparrow_,” he’d told her, adopting the same nickname the Empress had for her. “_Not even in our dreams_.”

She hadn’t known his meaning then.

It was after her adolescence when Qi'ra knew what it meant to serve.

A goddess had come to court, one of little meaning, but great name. “_Leia Organa_," Qi'ra said, watching as her pet played with Han's fingers. His fingers were covered in honey after he'd fed Qi'ra dates smothered in the golden substance, and she'd refused to lick them clean. He'd teased her, telling her that another would, and her monkey had climbed down from her shoulders as if they understood his teasing. "_Do you think she will matter_?”

“_Don’t all of you, Lady Qi’ra_?” Han replied, his lips curled into a familiar, arrogant smile. He knew how she preferred to be called Qi’ra, or Sparrow by those who knew her, rarely insisting on the use of her title. Qi’ra rolled her eyes, before leaning against his side.

“_You know how Snoke chooses to favor some_," she retorted before her tongue darted out to trace her bottom lip. She tasted sweet juices on her skin, left behind from the dates he'd fed her. "_He leaves the rest of us behind to rot. The Empress -_“ her voice lowered, while Han leaned down to hear her, though both were aware of the emptiness around them. One could never be too careful, as fond as the gods were of taking different forms; one, Bazine, preferring to take the form of a clinging butterfly, to know when someone spoke poorly of her. Those who did were often plagued with nightmares, dreaming of stinging creatures in their bed, and an itchy fire beneath their skin. “_She fears being replaced_.”

For every year that passed, there was little sign of an heir still.

It was well known throughout the court that progeny was the gods' gift to themselves, as they reveled in their youthful past times, and ensuring their name. It mattered not that most lived without end, as ones like Qi'ra knew well - her house was without further name, after the death of her mother in the third year she'd served the Empress. Qi'ra was the only one left of her house, the only one who would remember their support of Snoke when he came to power, and that they'd once bred the hounds the court used in their great hunts. Offspring, it was said, were like stars. They were meant as pretty ornaments, ones that would shine in the sky that was their family.

Surely, the Emperor was meant to have the brightest stars, the most glorious sky.

Yet he and his Empress had nothing, nothing at all.

“_She no longer calls upon me_,” Qi’ra added, her dark eyes downcast. “_She only relies on those who came with her upon marriage, and ones like Sabine, who are too young to…” _she hesitated, searching for the right words.

There were crudities; as she knew Sabine and the young girls who clung to her skirts, and cried from night terrors, hadn’t had their courses yet. They could hold no life inside them, bearing no soul but their own.

“_Present a challenge_,” Han finished for her, winding his arm about her slim waist. She felt the weight of him against her, taking comfort from it. He was as steady as a great oak tree, unbending in the raging fires around them.

Her place beside the Empress was no longer assured, the former intimacy between them replaced by fear for the succession. Snoke’s invitation to goddesses like Leia, ones who were from known families, and of age did little to secure the Empress’s worries.

And as Qi'ra soon found, she had worries of her own, when it came to Leia, for it seemed the goddess was taken to Han as she was. The goddess had been warmly welcomed to court, yet soon proved she meant to act more than a pretty decoration.

Qi'ra watched as Leia took easily to court life, shining where the Empress faltered. Leia cultivated friendships the same as Qi'ra collected feathers that fell from Snoke's phoenix and made wishes upon them. Few could resist Leia's quick wit, seemingly charmed even by her fierce temper, and the expectations she placed upon others. Gods and goddesses flocked to her, as eager to serve her as they served Snoke. Incredible, it seemed she meant to be _herself_.

And as Qi’ra studied Leia, she was studied by the girl in question.

For Leia wondered about the girl with dark eyes, who watched her, yet made no move to cling to her skirts as others did. Qi'ra kept her own company, accepted by the court as a pretty ornament, one who seemingly wanted for nothing but security.

What was her meaning, Leia wondered, her purpose?

For Leia had been raised by those who were like her parents, ones who showed her the purpose in bringing greatness to her family.

Her name was her legacy, Leia knew, something no one could take from her.

So, why then, did Qi’ra do nothing about her own?

Following the girl through tangled brambles, and shadows that clung to her skin, Leia found the one that Qi’ra wanted, the one that seemed to accept her beyond reason.

Han.

Leia traced his name on the inside of her wrist, listening as the two whispered to one another. It seemed they were dreaming of things Leia knew would - could never be.

Qi'ra found she thought the same after Leia took her place beside the Empress. The Empress had seemingly accepted Leia as her principal handmaiden, her confidant, as whispers grew. It was rumored the Emperor had ordered her to befriend the girl, showing her how to make the court her home, as if Leia hadn't already made it her own. 

Qi'ra knew she'd been displaced from the Empress's affections before Leia came, yet her hands fisted at her sides all the same. She felt her nails cut the flesh of her palm, rivets of blood dripping from her fingers. Leia had taken another place from her, one that she had made herself -

Leia had taken it from her, as elegantly as she dressed.

Her place beside Han.

Leia played in the gardens with the centaur, as Qi’ra watched from the window above.

Han had told her once, that he had no choice in who he served, as free as he might pretend to be. “_My body will be laid into the mud when I pass_," he'd told her, as clear as the summer's breeze. "_My name forgotten while my cock_ -"

She'd smacked his chest, and he'd grinned before he'd continued.

“_Where yours will be stardust, Sparrow, if death ever dares to claim you_.”

He hadn’t been afraid.

He never had.

Her monkey clung to her shoulder, making low chattering noises as tears slipped down her cheeks. “We have each other still,” she told her pet, her voice quivering. She wiped her cheeks roughly with her hands, furiously blinking away traitorous tears. “We _always_ will.”

* * *

Qi’ra found matters the same still.

She felt the familiar weight of her pet on her shoulder, combing its small fingers through her hair. The bejeweled ornaments were well secured, and the monkey chittered in displeasure. “I’ve learned, Sparrow,” Qi’ra said, her painted lips twisting in amusement.

Sparrow was the offspring of the original monkey, given to her so long ago, by the Empress that she’d adored. It had died the same day as the Empress had been dismissed, two years after Leia’s entrance. Allowed to form a lesser court in exile, the Empress had asked Qi’ra to follow her. “…_Please Qi'ra_,” she’d added, as no consort ever should.

Qi’ra had accepted, refusing to stay at the court she’d grown up a part of.

There’d been little reason for her to stay, after all.

She knew that her dreams were nothing more than their name; no longer wrapping about her the same as silk against her skin. Han had taken to Leia, the same as a blooming flower would to the sun. As Qi’ra watched them, she’d soon realized that it seemed there was more between them than simple ownership, after Snoke had gifted Han to Leia on the eve of their engagement. Snoke had wasted little time after exiling the Empress, to announce his courtship toward Leia, regardless of whether she played with the centaur or not.

Qi’ra reached for her steaming cup of tea, her hand steady as she raised the cup to her lips.

“She had everything,” she murmured, though she knew how the story ended.

For, with all of her youthful beauty, and her ambition, Leia had been unable to give Snoke the heir he wanted. Two years after their marriage, his seed had never taken root, and he’d begun to look for answers - some, believing the former Empress, had influenced fate in her favor.

Only Qi'ra, welcomed into her arms again, knew how the Empress (as she was still, and would always be, to her) had known little else but how to be Empress. She'd wandered the estate listlessly, and held reminiscences with her handmaidens, few of them remembering her golden days. Most of her servants had stayed at court, or retired to their families, waiting for the Emperor to take a new consort. The former Empress had little interest in the court that had abandoned her, nor the one who had taken her place.

Regardless, Snoke had ordered her execution.

Upon her death, Qi'ra wasn't recalled to court, instead, finding instead a place far from the court that she made her own. It was known for its gardens, where doves crooned from the trees above, and great beasts roamed freely, tame enough to be fed by hand. Qi'ra cared for them herself, alongside a coterie of entrancing nymphs and ones like her, who had little place else to go. The court had changed after Snoke had executed his first Empress and threatened his second. In the end, Leia had done unforgivable things, treasonous things, to uphold her family name and the heir that she finally secured for their dynasty.

The one who exemplified the Organa name was struck from court record after her execution, having taken place soon after the birth of an heir. Having an heir hadn’t been enough to save Leia, her husband having turned his face from her. Qi’ra wondered whether the boy’s eyes held his mother’s fire in them, or the teasing wit of his father’s.

She would have known, had she answered his mother's call when Leia wrote to her. She'd wanted Qi'ra to attend to her, stating she would be welcomed into the fold of the court. Qi'ra had never answered, leaving the letter in the bottom of the river that flowed throughout the whole of her estate.

It was the same river where she found her child.

Qi'ra had bathed with her nymphs, their gay laughter filling the air as they splashed one another. It was an entrancing picture, their white shifts clinging to them, and the sunlight kissing their skin when a child's soul had come to them. Qi'ra had gathered the girl's body to her, feeling her desire to live -

A child unwanted and unloved, one who hadn’t known how to swim.

She had drowned in the river above, her soul furiously clinging to life - and so, she'd come to where she could live without end if she was wanted.

Needed, if not loved.

“Rey,” Qi’ra said, knowing the woman would hear her call, wherever she was.

She'd been like a daughter to her since the start when Qi'ra had allowed breath to return to her and felt her body thrum with life. She'd rarely been apart from her after that, though Qi'ra sensed a wildness in her, a desire for more than Qi'ra could give her, whether she knew it or not. Like the beasts in the forest, Qi'ra knew that no matter how tame they might be, they would never be entirely hers.

They couldn’t be.

“Qi’ra,” she heard her daughter say.

Qi’ra turned her head askance, welcoming the vision that was Rey. Her cheeks were flushed, and her three buns askew, a tradition that she continued still. It was the one memory of the human world that Rey remembered: the feel of her mother’s comb against her hair, and her father praising her for it. Qi’ra had never scolded her for it, nor had she tried to dissuade Rey when she was called to a life apart from her.

A life that brought her closer and closer to court, as it were until she was in the very thick of it as Qi’ra knew. Rey had written her on the eve of her marriage, in a trembling hand, and shakier words of what Snoke had planned for her. Kylo, the partner she would love and never have, while she had Armitage too, a partner she had little love for, and who would own her. Qi’ra hadn’t been a fool, knowing that Snoke would never allow her to attend the ceremony.

She’d sent a tawny sparrow instead, knowing her daughter would recognize her message.

_I’m here._

They sent letters often, ones that were weaved into the collar of a pretty robin, or mourning dove, though this was the first time Rey would see her in person. Qi’ra knew she couldn’t afford to leave the court, not to see her, just as Qi’ra couldn’t see her. She wouldn’t endanger the only one who was like her child, making Snoke or her partners view Rey with distrust.

She spooned two sugar cubes into her daughter’s cup, as Rey slid into the seat across from her. She didn’t miss the single tear that tracked down the young woman’s cheek, nor did she miss the tremble of her lips. It wasn’t the brave girl she had known, but the overwhelmed woman she had become.

Perhaps, Qi’ra thought, she should have stolen Rey away, as soon as Snoke and his sons had set their eyes upon her. Though, even as she thought it, she knew her daughter would have never accepted a life in hiding, one where she was left wanting.

Rey started once, twice, three times before pushing the words from her mouth.

Sparrow crawled down from Qi’ra’s shoulder, gingerly moving across the table, before expertly climbing up Rey’s arm to perch on her shoulder. She had always liked her as a girl, often sleeping beside her when Qi’ra was away.

“Snoke,” Rey began, her tone dreadfully uncertain. She reached into her sleeve, pulling a roll of parchment free. “H-he desires us -”

Rey swallowed thickly before she handed the parchment to her. It was marked by Snoke's own seal, Qi'ra noted, as she took it in hand, and the letter itself furiously wrapped and unwrapped, as if someone had read it many times, in mounting distress.

“He desires for us to have a child,” Rey’s cheeks burned as she looked down at her hands. Qi’ra saw that she wore a single ring, one that glimmered well in the sunlight, “within the next year. Armitage and I.”

Qi’ra kept still, as she considered the news.

"You've taken precautions, before now?"

Rey glanced at her mother, before looking away again. "It hasn't taken," she said, though Qi'ra didn't miss her hesitation. There was something there, a matter between her daughter and the partner she was allowed to have. Qi'ra had never known his mother, hearing only that she was from the mortal world, one that Snoke had used as a vessel for his seed before abandoning. 

“A child can be a great comfort,” Qi’ra said lightly.

She knew of Rey's need for a family, one that had her rushing to the river's edge as a child, and desperately waiting for when it would bring her the family she waited for. Qi'ra had followed her more than once, sitting beside her and telling her stories of gods who were good, and brave, the kind of god humans dreamed of. It was the only time she indulged the child in her dreams, keeping her from reality.

For a moment, if only.

She never commented on the tears coating Rey’s cheeks, instead, brushing them away when Rey settled into her lap. It was a pain Qi’ra knew she couldn’t take away, the need for her family one that Qi’ra couldn’t replicate with herself and the nymphs around her.

Nor could she enter the human world, the right to do so relying on bloodline, as the Emperor had declared. The ones that had the right to cross between worlds were the ones whose ancestors had come from the world above, as the Kenobi’s had.

Their founder was Ben Kenobi, a mortal who had pleased the gods with his courage, defending the Organa’s own temple during wartime. He had been rewarded into their world, celebrated and adored until his spirit had faded, and he’d passed on; the children he sired in the god’s realm staying there.

They were known still, though they had chosen not to live at court, instead living in self-styled exile as Qi’ra did, and attending to the mortals that prayed to them. For there were some gods, Qi’ra knew, that answered the calls of those who needed them, as little known as they were.

Yet, who would hear Rey’s appeals?

Qi’ra’s fingers curled inward, her nails cutting into her skin. 

“I…” Rey looked away, nibbling on her bottom lip as Sparrow began to let down her hair. The monkey was like its namesake, determined as it was to have the ribbons that secured Rey’s dark hair into place. “I thought it would be with another when it happened.”

_Ah_, Qi’ra thought.

Everything was beginning again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Thank you, Soup and Oni, for beta reading. 🌹


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